


Closer (Mercy76)

by Xavirne



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Makeup Sex, Mercy76, Mercy76week, NSFW, Sex, closer by the chainsmokers, day4reunion, inspired by a song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9894695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xavirne/pseuds/Xavirne
Summary: Day 4 (Thursday) Reunion! That's what this Mercy76 Week fic is all about. Sadly, it didn't turn out how I wanted it. Sucks too because I love this song. I'll definitely have to re-write it later and try to make it closer to what I originally envisioned.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warning! This is NSFW!

The sting ripped at her flesh. It caused her stomach to turn and her senses to falter. It sent a chill down her spine and caused her eyes to roll back.

"Another."

A glass slid across the smooth, polished wooden surface. The sound it made drove her wild. It awoke an animal she'd long kept dormant

Hands curling around the crystalline shot, her head tipped back the second the glass touched her lips.

"Hisssss," slithered out from between her lips.

Gritting her teeth, she stomached the pain. The burning. The numbness that soon followed. She could no longer feel her tongue between her cheeks. She could no longer tell if she even had a tongue!

"Again."

The bartender quirked a brow. She was already on her fifth shot. Should he really giv-

She pulled out a twenty before holding up two fingers.

She was a guest at this establishment, holed up on the seventh floor in some suite. Although the bartender didn't know this, she'd had her name reserving that room for the past few years. She also booked it well in advance, opting to stop after 10 years. Ten long years of hoping she might finally forget.

The bartender with the greasy black hair sighed. A gesture that deflated his shoulders and showed his lack of morals. He was more worried about the money than anything else. That and who was he to argue. She was staying here; he caught her keycard poking out from behind her bra so it wasn't like she needed to drive home!

Pouring out another glass, he slid it her way. The attempted concern on his face faded when he caught her hallow stair. These weren't the kind of drinks one had because she broke up with her boyfriend. These were drinks because she _lost_ her boyfriend.

War was known to do that.

"When," he asked, attempting to make small talk and gauge her abilities.

"Four years," she hissed while sipping down the second glass.

He knew better than to pry further. "On the house," was all he said. Her nod was thanks enough. That and her nodding allowed him another sneak peak at what laid beneath the red lacy bra that was more than visible beneath her unbuttoned white oxford. Not even the pale orange v-neck cami could hide the vibrant red that curled up and out from behind. Had this woman been in her right mind, she might have promptly adjusted her top. But, being several drinks in and likely not giving a fuck, she didn't. If anything, it seemed like she wanted the attention.

Unfazed by the staring, she shrugged the man off. He wasn't worth her time. He was just a greasy, lowlife bartender, looking to make a bank off drunken fools.

Unlike the previous rounds, she didn't pound this one down. Instead, she watched the reflective liquid. She enjoyed its company. It was nice to not be alone.

Using the glass, she captured the audience behind her. All the hotel bar's patrons. Most of them were men just looking to score. A few were trashy women hoping to spend the evening sucking and squealing between the sheets and laps of various men.

But her? She wasn't look for anyone. For anything. She'd never found someone to replace him, sans the bottle she spent nights like this looking down.

Just as she was about to drink, a rush of air caused her fringe to sway in the breeze. Hint of annoyance present in her azure orbs, she looked at the man who dared sit beside her.

Sizing him up, she could easily tell he was over 6-foot, but not by a lot. He has snowy white hair, definitely dyed for she could see the pale blonde roots at his scalp. She was trained to notice these kind of things for she was a doctor. If she couldn't catch these seemingly unimportant details, she could lose a patient. She needed to see everything, even the well-hidden.

Her eyes shifted down, noticing the mask secured around his face. It was dark with a red visor. It was... odd. How was he going to drink anything wearing that? Or did he merely take that stool as it had a front-row seat to the only TV in the damn hotel bar?

Growling, she let the stranger know she wasn't interested in having a stool-mate. She wanted to be alone. Just her, these shots, and the bartender who learned it was smarter to not ask questions.

Sneering, she let her raspberry red lips taint the glass. The aroma wafted up, tingling her nose and upper lip. Tipping her hand, the liquid splashed around her mouth. It bit at every open sore; it was like acid. It peeled at every node within her mouth; it caused her teeth to shudder where they stood. Her breath was laced with misery as her eyes dulled with hazy memories.

When the stranger didn't move, she flagged the bartender. Her distasteful stare told him to get the guy to move but, sadly, the bartender couldn't just uproot a paying patron. Especially one who hadn't technically done anything wrong.

With yet another feral snarl, she demanded yet another shot.

"What's that," the man at her side spoke. "Number nine?"

Scoffing, her lip curled. "What's it matter to you," she snapped. It was none of his damn business. She was responsible. She could handle her liquor. Besides, it was that time of the year. The day of the year where she would drown herself with liquor to forget. To forget the way his lips tasted. The way his hands felt. The way she wanted to spend forever with him, beside him.

As she forced down her ninth shot, she felt her stomach weaken. Chest swelling, her fingers wrapped around the smooth counter.

He was out of his chair faster than she was able to stand. His arm slid beneath her ass and he flew across the floor. He didn't even think twice about barging into the men's bathroom with a woman cradled between his arms..

Quickly, his hands gathered up her hair and he leaned her forward into the counter, aiming for the narrow hole.

"W-what are you doing," she tried to hiss but found the retched taste in her mouth unbearable. Unleashing the previous nine shots plus her lunch, she groaned.

"What's it look like," his voice deep, sexy. Arousing. A sensation she hadn't felt in years.

"Looks like you're helping the hotel drunk," she managed to spit up before another wave sent her puking into the small trash receptacle opening between the sinks.

He smirked, still keeping her hair from her face. He didn't bother to move his hand either, cupping her ass and holding her upright just seemed like the gentleman thing to do.

"I," she started but couldn't finish right away. Throughout her whole ordeal, he never turned away nor did he complain. It was actually quite admirable.

When she was finally done dry heaving, she wiped her lips and attempted to speak again. "I've been coming here for years. I've yet to go home with anyone. What makes you think I'll br-" a burp interrupted her threats. The lipstick stain smeared across her cheek didn't help either.

"Heh," he scoffed, which confused her. "I was doing just fine before I met you."

His statement caused her to shoot him yet another confused stare. "I'm sorry, what?" She meant every bit of sarcasm she could muster up.

"Granted," he shifted, resting his rump against the sink all while still holding back her hair, "I drank a lot. Constantly haunted by the fact that I lost good men and there was nothing I could do about it. But hey, we all have our demons. We all have our vices. Who am I to fault you for picking up my bad habit?"

At this point, she was getting a headache. She literally had no idea what he was rambling about. And yet, despite wanting to leave, she couldn't. A part of her was intrigued. And hell, he just watched her vomit. Several times. And didn't seem to find her any less sexy. Who could ask for a better score?!

Turning on the sink, she splashed some warm water on her face. A toothbrush would have been nice to get rid of the putrid taste, but she didn't have that option. Instead, she popped out a peppermint she'd had in her purse since about a year ago. It was melted and cracked to hell, but it was truly better than nothing.

While sucking on it, she quirked a brow. "So you used to be like me? Drunk in a bar?" She wasn't sure why she was talking. She should have just kissed him already. Oh right, that damn mask marred all her plans.

Beneath the mask, he smirked while nodding.

"Do you," she flashed her lashes while leaning into him. As she pressed her body against his, she felt his pulse quicken. Not to mention, the bulge below thicken.

Her hands walked across his taut chest. Trailing up to his neck, she found the curved edges of his mask. Oh did she ever want to take that thing off and see what kind of man laid beneath the mask.

" _Do you...?_ " he whispered while his hand firmly grabbed her ass, keeping her body pinned against his.

"Wanna go for a ride?" She saw his brow raise from behind the mask.

"Thought you said to get lost."

Looking down, she let that sly smile crawl onto her face. Sapphire eyes flinging up, her hand danced lightly across his exposed forearm.

"I'll make an exception for you," she cooed while blowing her newly minty breath into his face.

"If we do this," he paused. "I... I can't stop."

* * *

Fumbling through her purse, she finally managed to unlock the Rover that sat in the back of the hotel parking lot. Sure, she could have invited him up to the homely room, but that wouldn't do. She didn't want to mar the relationship she had with that room.

Four years ago, she led a man up to that floor. She led him into her bed and into her heart.

And then, after a serious of unfortunate events, lost him.

Forever.

The blinding light of the explosion forever embedded in her brain, her heart. The blood. The destruction. His death. All of it too real to bear.

Sliding into the backseat of the Rover, she chewed her lip. It had been a long time since she last let a man get close to her.

In seconds, she was undoing her button-up blouse while he was taking off his jacket and shirt. As she snaked out of her work pants, he took off his ripped jeans.

They were quite the odd pair. A woman all dolled up who worked in an office (field office) and a roguish man who likely traveled from city to city looking for trouble. And yet, there they were. Finding love in the back seat of the Rover she couldn't afford.

As his hand fondled her, she twisted her head to the side. "Not going to be much kissing if you're wearing that," she teased while strumming the edges of the mask.

When he stopped touching her, she had to wonder, did she muck things up by talking? Was she just supposed to let him fuck her with that thing on? Sure, it would have been fine, but kissing just ramped up the game. She wanted this to be a hot and heavy as she could get it as it wasn't every day she let some stranger bang her in the back of her car.

She could fix this, she told herself. Although he'd stopped, it didn't mean she had to.

Grabby hands wrapped around his shaft. Slow, deliberate pumps followed, which seemed to bring back the man she lost moments before.

Foreplay, although fun, wasn't really on her mind. She wanted the sex. The kind of sex that came after drinking and vomiting and being saved by the suave yet mysterious stranger.

Spreading her legs, she thrust her hips his way while playing with herself. "You _comin_ '?" she huffed while licking her lips. "Or do I have to do all the work myself?"

Who was he to argue. It was an open invitation. His soft laughter caused her to grin.

Sliding across the backseat, he felt around before making his grand entrance.

God, she was wet. And she was the one that tried to get him to leave about an hour ago.

"Oh," she purred, immediately intoxicated by the feeling. The way his body felt within hers, the soft rocking followed by heavy pounding. It was perfect. She'd forgotten what it was like to have this. To have sex. To get lost in a man.

* * *

For what felt like hours, she would grind against him and he would continue to thrust and hump her. It was a perfect rhythm. The perfect dance.

God, she loved this. Missed this. It felt amazing too. Almost as good as the time she banged a special boy from the bar. In fact, there were a lot of similar qualities. The positioning of his hand, the way he always knew how to finger her-it was almost as if he'd been inside her before. But Jack was dead and this man was... well, new in town. It was purely coincidence, she decided. Though it was more the lack of mind that did her in. It's hard to think when someone's sucking on you.

"Oooh," she groaned again, completely in love with everything that was happening to her body.

When his hands stopped working their magic, she frowned. She was so close! And then came an unexpected pop. It caused her brows to furrow and her head to swivel. What the hell would make a pop sound?!

When her eyes finally took in the sight, her heart stopped. Body falling limp against the leather, she saw a ghost.

His lips bit the tattoo on her shoulder as his side smirk crept onto his face.

With a moan, both painful and happy, she looked away. Blinked hard, she then forced her eyes back on him.

"I know," he panted while still fucking her, "it's been four years. I should have called."

A part of her wanted to slap him. Tell him to get out. How dare he deceive her like this. Lie and hide the truth all these years.

And then there was the other part of her. The part that wanted him to stay. To stay and play that Blink 128 song they beat to death when they were stationed in Tuscon. The part of her that was in control and knew exactly what to do.

"I can't stop," she flashed him an exhausted smile.

His smiled matched hers. A coy look came into his eyes. "Well then, baby pull me closer in the backseat of your Rover," he whispered while nipping her ear. Biting her shoulder, she felt her spasm around him.

Her hand tugged at the sheet she threw over the backseat. It slid and pulled right off the corner.

Mouth open, she felt her eyes roll back. Her body jerked as did his. "God," she panted. How was this still happening. They had to have been going for nearly an hour and she'd orgasmed, what, at least five times. And seeing him, it just destroyed what little strength and composure she had left.

" _Jaaccckkkk_ ," she growled into the darkness.

Coated in sweat, she leaned up, feeling the weight of his body against hers. She panted, tongue out. She felt like a dog in heat. No matter how many times they finished, she needed more. She had four years worth of sex to make up.

"Again," she huffed.

" _Ang_ ," Jack fanned himself, trying to take the redness from his cheeks. Doing Angela was a workout, a workout he hadn't done in ages. "I'm in my fifties. Not sure I got much lef-" He caught her smirk.

" _Jack_ ," her lips kisses his, "we ain't ever getting older."

The way she sat there-naked, covered in his sweat on the pulled up sheet-he felt the years melt off him. Not to mention, she didn't look a day over thirty. And despite the white hair and scars on his face, Jack didn't look older. Why, if he let her mend his scars and dye his hair blonde, he'd probably look just like he did years ago! "Well then baby pull me closer in the backside of your Rover that I know you can't afford," he begged.

She chewed her lip as he bit her tattoo. With a giggle and a blush, she pushed him back. "You look as good as the day I met you. Forget just why I left you-I was insane."

He smirked between the kisses. "Well I died, technically, so I can't blame you."

She huffed while feeling the new scars on his face. "Insane," she quipped again.

"Good thing I found you. You were looking pretty in a hotel bar." Jack's hips pressed against hers.

"Well then don't stop," she cooed.

"I can't stop," he groaned.

"Good," she bit his lip playfully. "Because we're going to spend all night making up for those past four years."

"Ang," he stopped to catch his breath. "I died." This whole 'sex' thing was taking a lot out of him. Sure, he was used to hunting Talon. Sure, he was used to long trips in the beating sun. But sex? For hours. Oi, it was a new level of extreme workouts! Every inch of his body was sore from exploring new moves and positions he had long since forgotten.

"Well then," her lips wrapped around his. "Then I guess you technically can't get any older." She winked before shoving him against the backseat.

A rolling, sexy laugh caused her to swoon. With a quick twist of his leg, he spun her around. "I think you mean we ain't ever getting older."

And down into each other they went. Finding bliss late into the night in the back of the hotel parking lot. Getting closer.


End file.
